


player judged most valuable

by achilleees



Series: jack/parse tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: future fic, jack's been in the nhl a few years, ignoring parse when they play the aces. he can't ignore him the night of the nhl awards, not when he looks this good, not when he fucking thanks jack in his hart acceptance speech.</p>
            </blockquote>





	player judged most valuable

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://achilleees.tumblr.com/). esp come give me jack/parse prompts!! i would write so much more if i only had the ideas for it.

“Just heard the news,” said Brooker, extending a hand. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, shaking his hand. “It’s a huge honor.”

“News?” said Branche. He sipped his champagne, looking interested. “What news?”

Brooker nodded to Jack. “Just announced – here, you wanna tell it?”

Jack ducked his head.

“Just got announced as captain,” Brooker told Branche.

“Oh, félicitations pour le capitanat!” Branche said warmly.

“Merci,” Jack said, smiling. “It’s really just – such a huge honor.”

“And now you will win the Selke,” Branche said. “A good day for Zimmermann, no?”

Jack raised both hands. “Against Bergeron and Kopitar? Non, you don’t need to lie to me, I won’t mind the loss.”

Branche snorted. “You will win the Selke, as certainly as Parson will win the Hart. The Vezina, though –“

“Oh, come on, it’s Price, who else?” Brooker said.

“Guys, please, behave,” Brooker’s wife said, laying a hand on his arm. “You’re just going to stress yourselves out. Jack, I’m so sorry, these boys are incorrigible.”

“Jack?” Brooker said, when Jack didn’t answer.

“Oh, sorry,” Jack said, giving a little twitch as he came back to the conversation. “What was that?”

Brooker’s wife laughed. “Nothing, nothing at all. How are you enjoying Providence?”

 _As certainly as Parson will win the Hart_.

Is that what Kent thought, that his win was locked in? Is that why he was smiling so easy and loose, no tension in his frame as he chatted with John Tavares?

No, Jack thought. That was just Kent. Kent Parson, with his crooked smirks and his half-lidded eyes and his easy charm and his Calder and his Cup and his Art Ross and his…

Some things just weren’t fair.

Brooker coughed.

“Oh, uh, Providence? I’m really enjoying it,” Jack said. “It’s a really nice town, great fans.”

“That’s lovely,” she said. “And Vegas? Are you enjoying yourself here?”

Jack said something, but for the life of him, he had no idea what it was.

Kent was laughing, head tipped back and eyes crinkled up.

Some things just weren’t fucking fair.

 

 

“Jack, have you met Maxime Levesque?” Landry said.

“Oh, yeah,” Max said, grinning and dragging Jack in for a brisk hug. “Met this year in San Jose, for the –”

“All-Star Game, of course,” Landry said.

Jack nodded. “It was… an experience,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve, ah…”

“Seen so many drunk Canadians in your life?” Max said, crows feet crinkling by his eyes. “Should have been there last year, it was wild. They instituted the curfew this year just for that, you know?”

Jack stiffened a little, against his will. It wasn’t a slight, he told himself, but it didn’t make it any easier to take with a smile.

“Much tamer this year,” Max continued. “Though that might be just because of Parson.”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot about that,” Landry said. “He wasn’t there this year?”

“Twisted his ankle – or so he claimed,” Max snorted. “Pulled a Crosby on us, didn’t he?”

“Aw, he wouldn’t do that, not after the fun he had last year,” Landry said. He leaned back, looking around. “Yo, Parse!”

Kent swaggered over, hands tucked in his pockets, pulling the crisp lines of his suit jacket taut over his shoulders. His hair was slicked back, and a large part of Jack wanted to rub his hands all over it and muss it up. He just didn’t look right without his cowlick.

“Sup?” Kent said.

“Max is saying you bailed on the All-Star game this year,” Landry said. “Tell him he’s full of shit.”

“Oh, you are very much full of shit,” Kent said. “Really did twist my ankle. Wouldn’t have missed it otherwise.” His eyes met Jack’s, for just a moment, hitting deep and low like a punch to the gut.

Jack swallowed.

“That’s what I said,” Landry said. “After that stunt you pulled with the watermelon and the keg at the convention center –”

“Merde,” Max said with feeling. “I still feel a bit sick when I smell vodka now.”

Kent grinned – all bright-eyed and sly, just when Jack thought he couldn’t look any better, crisse. That suit should be illegal. That _smile_ should be illegal.

“Jack, could I get you for a moment?” Vanessa Schotkey said, touching his elbow. “I’m sorry, just a quick quote.”

Jack gladly took the opportunity to escape.

 

 

But try as he might, there was no avoiding Kent – two years, perhaps, but no longer.

“Oh, Jack, you know Kent Parson, of course,” Ulfsson said, reaching out a hand and pulling Kent into their circle as if drawing him from mid-air.

It was all Jack could do not to flinch.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Kent said. “Seriously, Ulfy?” He rolled his eyes. “Hey -” And Jack could _see_ his lips pursing around the Z before he thought better of it. “Jack,” he finished smoothly. “How’ve you been?”

It sounded weird, coming from him, and Jack’s face must have demonstrated that, because Kent’s smile went a bit softer at the corners. “Been good,” Jack said. “Real good. And you?”

“Can’t complain,” Kent said. “Sorry to dash, boys, but I’ve just spotted Millsy’s wife over there and I have an appointment to flirt madly with her within his earshot. BRB.” He vanished into the crowd.

Jack watched him leave until Ulfsson cleared his throat, and Jack’s gaze snapped back.

“Sorry,” he said, flustered. “What were we -”

Ulfsson answered something, but Jack’s attention was already wandering again.

He’d been dreading this night for some time, worried that Kent was going to take the opportunity to corner him again, wouldn’t be able to hide his frustration and longing because Kent was always an open book when it came to Jack - those lap-sitting pictures of their Q days were proof of that.

But… nothing. Nothing at all.

Which is… good, he reminded himself. Yeah, right. Good.

 

 

Jack had to keep from being snappish for the rest of the evening, which he was self-aware enough to know was about Kent, how good he looked, how easy it was for him to ignore Jack.

He was also self-aware enough to know he was being a complete dick here, because he had been the one ignoring Kent for his two years in the league (and before, he knew) – a cursory handshake here or there, an even smile across a crowded room.

There were some things he had to do for his own sanity. Getting over Kent Parson was one of them. But that was easier said than done, especially when he was wearing a suit that tapered to his waist like that, with that curve of a crooked smirk on his lips. Damn him.

Jack’s mood did lift when he won the Selke, and he gave a rote but sincere speech thanking his family and friends, and saying honestly that Bergeron and Kopitar each deserved it far more than he did.

He didn’t look for a flash of blond in the crowd, but it took more focus than he would have liked not to.

 

 

And then came the Hart.

Next to him, Roaner shifted in his seat. “Most predictable award of the night,” he said.

“That’s what people keep saying,” Jack said, but he didn’t know why. He hadn’t watched any of Kent’s games this season, couldn’t bring himself to – knowing what Kent had asked of him, knowing what Jack hadn’t been able to accept. It was hard enough to see him in that Aces uniform back when Jack was still at Samwell, but now that he was captaining a team across the country, it was more than he could handle.

He knew Kent’s points total, of course, knew his face-off percentage and his plus/minus and his Corsi stats, but he had a feeling there were intangibles that had to be seen to be understood. And highlight clips on ESPN were – that was a snapshot, not the full picture.

Maybe the fact that the team had gone 2-8-1 while Kent was gone with a sprained MCL said enough, he realized.

“And this season’s Hart Memorial Trophy goes to… Kent Parson.”

Everyone was clapping, and no one looked surprised, least of all Crosby and Tavares, the other nominees.

Kent’s eyebrows shot up in what Jack could tell was real shock, though, and then he was grinning and rising to his feet, doing up the button on his suit jacket as he walked down the aisle.

He accepted the trophy with a handshake and took his place behind the podium. “Whoa,” he said, to which the audience chuckled. “I, uh, really should have prepared something.”

He rubbed the back of his head. Jack could tell only immense concentration kept him from carding his fingers through his hair and messing up the careful arrangement. “So, uh, first off, congratulations to Sidney and John, it’s an honor to, uh, be in your company. Uh, I’d like to thank the Professional Hockey Writers' Association for voting for me, and the fans, thanks for your support - my team, who make me look a lot better than I really am - my family, who have supported me so much and worked so hard to give me the opportunities I’ve had…”

Jack smiled slightly. The PR stooges had fully infected Kent too, it seemed. No one was safe.

“And lastly, I’d like to thank Jack Zimmermann, without whom I wouldn’t be half the player I am today. Oh, and congratulations to all the award winners and nominees. Good night.”

And with that, Kent left the stage.

And Jack was left stunned, a hundred faces turned to look at him, cameras swiveling from every direction.

“Well, alright, then,” Roaner said.

 

“Jack!”

Jack turned - it was that obnoxious little man from Bleacher Report. “Yes?”

Roaner shifted. “You don’t have to do this. Cab will be here in a minute.”

“You go,” Jack said, seeing how his wife was checking her cell phone and looking towards the line of cabs. “I’ll just be a minute.”

The reporter caught up with him. “Do you have anything to say about Kent Parson’s surprising declaration of gratitude to you during his acceptance speech?”

“Not really,” Jack said.

The PR stooges would not like that.

“It was a nice gesture and I appreciated it,” he added.

“You don’t think it was a shot at you?”

Jack raised his eyebrows, staring the man down until he clarified fumblingly, “You know, where you are, where he is…”

“From Kent?” Jack smiled a little. “Not at all. Kent has never been anything but absolutely humble and absolutely sincere, and a good friend.”

“Then do you deny rumors of conflict between you from the start of your time on the Falconers?”

“Absolutely. If I could ask, where are you hearing these rumors from?” Jack crossed his arms.

The reporter took one last desperate shot. “Some say you’ll never be able to disassociate yourself from his legacy. Do you have a response to that?”

“There are worse things than being associated with one of the best players in the league, and one of the greatest guys I’ve ever met.” Jack looked over his shoulder. “I should go.”

In the cab, he went back over the quotes he’d given to make sure he wouldn’t regret it too much in the morning. It wouldn’t paint him in the best light, but hopefully he didn’t come across as a jealous shrew.

As he went over his words, he was surprised to find he had meant every word of it.

 

 

There was a knock on his hotel room door late that night. It said something about the weirdness of his night that Kent standing on the other side wasn’t the biggest surprise yet.

“Kent?” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” Kent said, pacing in the hallway, eyes wild. His hair was rumpled, which was – yeah, good.

“For what?” Jack said. “Did you do something?”

“For – before, for how I tripped out when I was accepting the Hart and – I know you don’t want anything to do with me,” Kent said. “I’ve been trying so hard, and then…” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s like my brain completely blanked. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said.

“Um, if you say so,” Kent said. “I know you must have had to field about a thousand questions about me, though, which is balls.”

Jack shrugged.

“You’re being weirdly reasonable about this, for someone who spent the last two years avoiding me,” Kent said. He narrowed his eyes. “What gives?”

“I didn’t –” Jack started, but, well, he did. “I wasn’t –”

“You were,” Kent said.

“I guess I feel established enough in the league that I can be associated with you without being…” Jack sighed.

“Overshadowed by me?”

Jack nodded.

“That actually makes sense,” Kent said, sounding surprised.

“It does happen from time to time.”

Kent grinned. “So I’m allowed to talk to you now in public without getting the cold shoulder? This is good to know.”

“Yeah.” Jack managed about three seconds of composure before blurting out, “When you say you’ve been trying so hard…”

Kent tilted his head to the side. “Gave you space, didn’t I? I didn’t talk to you, didn’t approach you, didn’t –”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jack said.

Kent stared at him, unblinking.

“If you don’t want to.” Jack met his gaze. “You don’t have to.”

“You are, without a doubt, the most confusing motherfucker I have ever met in my life,” Kent said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Jack said.

Kent started to smile. “I guess you have,” he murmured, probably remembering the same conversation as Jack, years ago, before he knew about the pills, back when Jack was still a mystery to be solved instead of just a disappointment.

“Kenny…” Jack said.

“Zimms?” Kent said.

“It turns out we’re pretty bad at ignoring each other,” Jack said. “Or – we’re good at it, but that doesn’t make it fun.”

Kent hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, wearing that infuriating, gorgeous smirk. “One night of me ignoring you and you’re buckling. This moment is delicious, you know that?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Do you want to come in or not?”

“Yeah,” Kent breathed out, like there was nothing more that he wanted, could possibly want, in the entire world. There was a wonder in his eyes that outstripped his awe at earning the Hart tenfold.

Jack stepped to the side and beckoned Kent inside.

 

 


End file.
